The human brain is remarkably resilient.
But there is a distinct, horrifying difference between waking up from a nightmare and waking up into one.
Marcus Cole was currently experiencing the latter.
He sat on the edge of a lumpy, unfamiliar mattress in a dingy apartment he had never seen before, clutching his head in both hands.
His skull throbbed like someone had taken a baseball bat to his frontal lobe.
His breathing came in shallow, panicked gasps.
Staring at the television screen across the room.
It was an older model, the color slightly washed out, but the audio was crystal clear.
It was the only sound in the dead-silent room, and every word the anchor spoke felt like a nail being driven into his head.
“…and following the catastrophic events at the Monaco Historic Grand Prix, shares in Stark Industries have taken a minor dip. Tony Stark has refused to comment on the appearance of the rogue assailant wielding Arc Reactor technology, despite Senator Stern’s mounting pressure.”
Marcus stared at the screen, eyes burning.
Monaco.
Arc Reactor.
Senator Stern.
“In related domestic news,” the anchor continued, “the Senate committee has once again stalled on the proposed Mutant Registration Act, following protests outside the Capitol. Proponents of the bill argue that if private citizens like Stark are being targeted, unregistered mutants pose a far greater, unpredictable threat to public safety.”
Marcus let out a slow, trembling breath, dragging his fingers through his hair and tugging hard enough to hurt.
He was dead.
He was so incredibly dead.
Admiring a fictional universe from the comfort of a couch with a bowl of popcorn was one thing.
Finding yourself actually trapped inside it was something else entirely.
Behind a screen, collateral damage was just CGI.
In real life, it was a falling skyscraper crushing you while you were just trying to buy groceries.
“What the actual hell,” Marcus whispered into the empty room, barely above a breath.
“Mutants and the Avengers? In the same universe?”
The MCU was already dangerous enough on a normal day — alien invasions, killer robots, a giant purple guy who could snap half the universe out of existence.
Now throw mutants into it.
Magneto.
Sentinels.
A government already terrified of anything it couldn’t control.
This wasn’t just dangerous.
It was a mess waiting to blow up.
Marcus stood up on shaky legs and began pacing the small room.
Okay, It’s Monaco.
Iron Man 2.
2010.
The Battle of New York hasn’t happened.
Thanos isn’t even looking at Earth yet.
He stopped pacing.
Wait.
What if this isn’t even the main timeline?
Fingers gripping the edge of the desk, he stared at the peeling wallpaper.
The multiverse was apparently a thing here.
What if this was one of those What If…? universes?
The one where Hank Pym went rogue and killed the Avengers?
The one where Ultron got the Infinity Stones?
“Please just be the normal timeline,” Marcus muttered, eyes squeezed shut.
“Just the regular one. Where the good guys win. I can’t fight Infinity Ultron. I can’t even throw a punch without breaking my own wrist. I’m gonna die in a crossfire before the week’s out.”
Cash.
That was the priority.
Cash, and a way out of New York, because the city was clearly about to become a superhero battlefield and he had zero interest in being collateral damage.
The sheer impossibility of surviving in this world was starting to sink in.
Then a sharp, crystalline ping rang out — not in the room, but directly inside his skull.
Marcus flinched, slapping a hand over his ear.
The dingy apartment blurred in front of him.
A sleek, semi-transparent blue interface flickered into existence in his line of sight, hovering in the air.
[SYSTEM INITIALIZATION COMPLETE.]
Marcus froze.
He stopped breathing entirely.
[Welcome, Host. The BONDED HEIR SYSTEM is now online.]
[Analyzing Host’s physical parameters…] [ Result: Severely below average. Survivability rating: 0.04%.]
“Hey,” Marcus breathed out, half-offended despite the terror.
“Screw you.”
[To assist the Host in surviving an apocalyptic-tier universe, two pathways for progression have been unlocked.]
[…]
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Marcus froze, eyes locked on the peeling paint of his front door.
The blue interface still hovered in his vision, but he’d stopped seeing it.
Knock.
Knock.
The knocks were hesitant.
Weak.
Marcus made his way to the door, in no hurry to find out who was on the other side.
Opening this was statistically a terrible idea.
He gripped the cold brass doorknob and pulled it open just a crack.
A girl stood in the fluorescent flicker of the grimy hallway, looking like she’d been running for days.
An oversized, faded yellow-and-green leather jacket hung off her frame, arms crossed tight over her chest, shivering hard enough that he could hear her teeth.
She pulled her hood back just enough for the flickering hall light to catch a stark white streak in her hair.
Beyond her shoulder, rain hammered the hallway window — a downpour he hadn’t noticed over the sound of his own breathing.
Water dripped steadily off her hood, soaking into the threadbare carpet.
“Um…” Marcus cleared his throat, keeping the door open only a few inches.
“Who are you?”
She wrapped her arms tighter around herself.
“I… I don’t have anywhere to go,” she said, voice barely louder than the rain against the glass.
“It’s freezing out there. I was just hopin’… could you let me in?”
Marcus stared at her.
A random stranger asking to come inside?
Why my door?
She didn’t look like a typical street vagrant, despite the exhaustion and the rain plastering her hair down.
Something about her didn’t fit that picture at all.
Which made this infinitely worse.
He glanced up at the glowing blue text still hovering in his vision.
[Survivability rating: 0.04%.]
Great.
My odds are already basically zero, and now I’m supposed to open the door for god knows who this girl is.
“Yeah, well. Fuck this,” Marcus whispered.
SLAM.
He shoved the door shut in her face, twisting the deadbolt with a loud, final thwack.
Marcus pressed his back against the peeling paint of the wood and let out the breath he’d been holding since she first spoke.
Smart move, Cole.
Rule number one of surviving a cinematic universe: do not invite the main plot into your house.
He waited for her to start banging, or curse him out, or just walk away down the hall.
She didn’t.
A few seconds later, he heard it through the cheap wood — a sniffle, then a jagged, suppressed sob.
Not loud.
Just someone who’d hit a dead end and had nothing left to throw at it.
Marcus dropped his head back against the door.
Damn it.
He was a coward, sure — but not enough of one to leave a girl crying in a hallway.
He leaned in close to the gap.
“Hey,” he said, keeping his voice low.
The crying on the other side hitched, then stopped.
“Look, I’m not a shelter, okay? I don’t even know if this is my apartment,” Marcus muttered, dragging a hand down his face.
“Why are you here? What’s your name?”
A long silence, save for the rain against the hallway window.
Then, small and trembling:
“Marie. My name’s Marie.”
Marcus closed his eyes.
Marie.
Wait.
Marie.
Anna Marie LeBeau?
Rogue?
The white streak leaves no doubt — this is her.
But if she’s just going by “Marie” right now, that means Xavier hasn’t taken her in yet.
Which meant she’d just run from something — from someone — and put a boy in a coma with a kiss, and had no idea the guy on the other side of this door already knew all of it.
[SYSTEM ALERT: Potential Bonded Heir target identified.]
[Target Status: Extremely vulnerable.]
[New Quest Triggered: Open the door.]
[Reward: 50 Merit Points.]